Stargazers
by Henneth Annun Writers
Summary: Who taught Faramir about the constellations? A series of linked stories about his lessons.
1. Earendil

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Eärendil

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By Starlight

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The sun had waned almost completely when the Prince of Dol Amroth was at last free to close the door of his study and retire to seek for a much needed rest. Adrahil walked the short distance to the terrace, and once there took a deep breath and stretched as the chill breeze of Amroth's evening awakened his mind and fiddled with his tunic and hair. Night's blue mantle was unfurling; a few orange sun-rays still lingered far off to the west, but the moon shone bright and many stars were already blinking. The sight was amazingly inviting; it reminded him of the old days as a sailor, where it was only him, and the stars, and an enourmous, endless sea of black. He leaned forward, resting his arms over the iron railing, when his eyes caught a dim flicker on the ground to his left. A low but distinct whisper came, and he tilted his head to take a better hearing.

"Menelvagor... Helluin... Morwynion... Remm-i... What does it say here?"

Adrahil smiled upon hearing the cadence of a voice he knew so well, and somehow thought that he should not have been surprised. With as much stealth as a man his age could muster, the prince descended the few steps unto the garden, walking toward the bushes from whence the light came. He cleared his throat, "I suppose you think it wise for a young man your age to be wandering outside at night, alone."

Faramir jerked back and gasped; then, the contracted face slowly relaxed into a slight grin. "Good evening, grandfather," he replied, holding his lamp higher so he could take a better look at his Sire.

"Well?" Adrahil asked, putting up a frowning face and assuming a stern tone in his voice, arms crossed in front of him, "What have you to say for yourself?

"Well," the boy began, hesitatingly, but upon seeing the smile lurking in the corners of his grandfather's mouth, he continued in a rather confident manner, "I am already seven years old, and I carry a light with me, and I am still inside the palace, so I truly do not think anything could be amiss." Faramir looked up at him with that serious stare that he had recently adopted when realizing that Boromir no longer enjoyed to play with toy soldiers. It was Adrahil's feeling that the boy wished to make himself older when years were still against him so he would not lose his brother's company so soon. He wished to afford a few moments to think about this, but the youthful countenance suddenly looked so stern, that he could not help but let out a laugh at the sight.

"I reckon, then, that there is no room for an old man to sit by and interrupt a scholar's musings."

"Not at all, Sir!" Faramir yelled in eagerness, although suddenly checked himself. Moving aside so that Adrahil could take the dryest patch of ground, he crossed his legs, bending his knees upwards, and resting his head on them. He smiled, revealing one or two teeth missing, undoubtedly an improvement from last time, when there had only been a few to be seen and many holes. The child was growing fast, faster than he would have hoped. 

"And, it would most certainly not be odd to find you with a book in your hands, eh? May I ask what is it that you read? That volume looks rather weighty, and old too, if I may say so. Do spill it out, lad."

"I found this at the library in your study," he admitted as he handed out the book for inspection, then quickly lowering his eyes to stare intently down to his sandal lace, a gesture that reminded Adrahil so much of his dear daughter! "Boromir took me in, you know. I am sorry, but you were not around to ask for permission, and I- I had to find a book about the stars."

"I see," Adrahil said at last, recognizing the bright blue cover of his 'Signs in the Heavens.' "And," he smiled kindly, trying to ease Faramir's discomfort, "why is it that you have taken to star-gazing? It is a pleasant study, no doubt. I've spent many a delightful evening watching the sky and pondering; but, methinks it is not a common past-time for one as young as you."

"Well," the child began, the keen look of concentration that most usually accompanied one of his deepest thoughts suddenly lighting his eyes, "Father has proposed a contest." The prince raised an eyebrow. Something in the child's voice spoke more of despair than excitement. "It's more like a wager." Adrahil looked baffled. At length, Faramir decided it was best if he told the full tale at once; narrowing his gaze in concentration, he began, "I found a star map the other day, while I helped master Gildor, the warden at Father's library. It was so beautiful and appeared to be so interesting! There were drawings on it of every kind, painted with bright colors, but I understood none of it! I showed it to Father, and asked him to teach me how to use it. He said that, if I learned my constellations right, he would!" Adrahil forced himself to smile in spite of the knot that he felt forming on his throat. How many others could teach this child how to read such a map! And yet, it was only natural that he would want his father to do it. With his own aged hand, he aided the wind in ruffling his grandson's hair, though with more tender caress. After a few moments of silence, the prince was surprised to hear Faramir speaking again, the voice muffled for his face was once again bent down, "If only I knew where to begin! There's just so many of them! They all look the same to me," and the sentence ended with a deep sigh. 

"Well, then," Adrahil said, casting the book aside and pulling Faramir closer to him. "I think I may be useful, after all. I know a little bit of star-lore myself," and he winked, supressing a low chuckle. Clearly, the fact that he had been a sailor most of his life had escaped his grandson.

Faramir suddenly looked up at him, eyes open wide in wonderment, dividing looks of interest and curiosity between the old book that lay on the ground and his grandfather. "Do you know them all... by heart?"

Adrahil nodded, smiling with an exaggerated sense of pride that made Faramir giggle. "Let us start at the very beginning, shall we? Do you know why the stars are up there in the first place?"

"Why, to give us light in the night!" Faramir was quick to answer.

"Among a few other things." The child gave him an incredulous look. "Poets, for one thing, need the starlight to sing to their loved ones." Faramir snorted. "Rangers and sailors, such as myself, need the light of the stars to guide us when nothing else would. Rangers roam in the wild, skulking, and have to hide under great trees and inside caverns, wandering out at night quite often. What do you think guides them, but the stars and the patterns they make in the sky? And sailors too, out there in the sea, when there is nothing to look at, but a huge plain of blue waves of many hues to all sides? We learn our stars properly, so that we know where to stir, and how to return home."

"So," Faramir knit his brow tightly, "did you learn your stars when you were very young?"

"Well, let me remember... I may have been a year or so older than Boromir when I did. But, you see, my life depended on it, for I was to set sail in a couple of more years, and had I not learned how to read the signs in the heavens, I would have sunk!" and this was followed by the prince tickling Faramir's side, and the boy laughing out loud. "We do not know yet how useful this will prove to you in the future, son," Adrahil continued, pulling Faramir into a close embrace, and sitting him on his lap. "But, you will not regret having learned it. Now, did you know that the Elves are lovers of the starlight, too?" The last sentence made the young listener gape. "Indeed, they are. You know that-"

"Wait!" Faramir protested, rather loudly. "How do the rangers and sailors guide themselves during day-time? There are no stars to be seen then!"

"Ah, but you are wrong! You see, this is what I was going to tell you about right now. There is one star that shines, and if you look carefully, you can even see it sometimes when the sun is up, for its beauty and radiance is such that the rays of Anor cannot outmatch it. It is the star most beloved of the elves: Earendil. And, I would know of such things," Adrahil said, feigning to be vexed at Faramir's non-believing look. The boy snuggled closer to him, and so the tale began. "It was a long time ago, when many of the fair folk still lived this side of the sea, that an evil darkness covered the earth, threatening to drown everyone with it! The peril was such, that the hosts of elves and men, who were friends and allies for the most part, knew not how to vanquish that foul power. The need became desperate, and in a dangerous and almost deadly attempt to do what he could for Middle-Earth, a brave sailor, Earendil, decided that he would journey westwards, seeking for the Blessed Realm, where he would plead with the Powers to come and aid them in their struggle." Here, Adrahil paused most conveniently, for Faramir 's intense stare grew brighter with curiosity.

"Well, granddad? What happened?"

"When Earendil told of his plan to his friends, there were none to be found who would accompany him! And you know how many sailors are needed to care for a boat," Faramir waved his assent. "Only three others and himself, to brave the perils of such a quest. But, Earendil had an amazingly good sea-vessel, 'Vingilot.' Do you know what 'Vingilot' means? It is a quenya word..."

"Foam-something..." Faramir whispered as he narrowed his gaze in concentration, murmuring as many quenya words as he had ever learned to find for the meaning. "Foam... flower?"

"Indeed," Adrahil conceded. What a clever boy this one! "Vingilot was the best ship that had ever sailed the seas, and trusting to his own fortunes, and due to the grave need, Earendil unfurled the white sails of his vessel on a bright morning and set to the West with gulls following him and singing their well-wishes for a safe journey. For many days and nights, and through rain and storm, Earendil sailed toward places where no other man had ever been. But, you see, Earendil was no ordinary man, for he was half-elf. It so happened that one day he thought he saw something far off in the horizon, and upon looking closer, he realized it was land that he saw! Land, at last!"

"At last!" Faramir said, excitedly. "Did he see the Powers? What did they do to him? Did they come and aid men against the dark enemy? Half-elf? What is that? What happened to Vingilot?"

"Hold on! These are rather too many questions to be answered at once, but I shall try. You know that no one could step into the Blessed Realm of the Valar and return to the earth as one living." Faramir breathed deep and widened his eyes. Adrahil felt the heart inside the boy's chest begin to beat faster as he waited in expectant silence for the conclusion of the tale. "And Earendil had done just so. But, the Valar saw what a fair being he was, and they understood of the great love he bore for his people to have risked such perils to seek for help. So, they took pity on him, and though they could not send him back, they realized that he could still be of use to those kinsmen whom he so much loved." Adrahil paused, leaning his head back, and drawing a hand to his temple as if trying to remember something that he used to know, or as if trying to forget something that caused him pain; for, many times he had told this story before, to a listener as eager as Faramir, and his eyes watered somewhat. "From here on, I cannot give you all the details that you would surely wish for, for that lore has been lost to my forefathers. What we do know, is that the Powers hallowed Vingilot, and set it on the sky with Earendil to stir it, and they set a bright jewel on his forehead that shone with such amazing brilliancy that it is said that all elves and men who first saw it when it traversed the night sky gasped in wonderment, and a new hope was born in their hearts. And so, we all look to Earendil now for hope in times of danger, and know that, though the night may seem dark, there is a light that will pierce even the darkest black."

"And, what happened to men?" Faramir asked, seemingly troubled. "Did they win the war?"

"Well, it is said that a host from the West came to fight against evil, and they won. The darkness was vanquished, for a while," a somber spell seemed to fall on him, and he clutched his grandson's hand. Faramir looked at him, puzzled. He was yet young to understand about such matters, and Adrahil did not wish to tell him now. The day might come when he would have to find out for himself, and suddenly he realized just how much he wished to shield this child from all that was bad. He smiled so Faramir would not be distressed, and resumed the thread of his speech. "It was due to their brave deeds in the war that men were awarded by the Valar, and they were gifted with a land of promise to be their home: Númenor."

"Númenor," Faramir repeated as if one bewitched, looking at his grandsire, then to the sky, and then toward the West, his eyes sending out bright flickers. Adrahil felt how he gripped his tunic tightly, and wondered what deep thoughts were concealed under that piercing glance. Thus they remained for a while, looking at the sky and the lights that glimmered above them, peaceful in each other's company, until a bright, blinding flash could be seen far off to the West. "Earendil!" Faramir cried in a flush of excitement and awe, "That's Earendil, is it not?"

"Very well, my most beloved pupil. That is Earendil, and I think you have learned your first lesson perfectly. Would you care to continue with your star-gazing schooling?"

"Only if you will teach me," Faramir said as he wrapped his arms around Adrahil's neck, and kissed him.

"If you so wish, I think I can arrange that," the prince laughed, his heart light by this tender display of innocent affection. "What would you wish to learn next?"

"Tell me about Númenor!" came the unexpected response.

"Númenor?" Adrahil asked, quite puzzled, and then the lines around his mouth curled into a smile that quickly turned into wide laughter. "Oh, I can hear the star-lover speaking! And I had thought you would be dreadfully bored! Well, if you must know, Men of Númenor came from a race of mariners and surely some of them..." Faramir turned to him, the clear eyes fixed steadily on him as he spoke. "Well, I suspect one more story before it gets too late won't hurt anyone, will it? We still have a whole month before your father comes, and I am sure that during this time I can teach you more about the stars than you will ever care to know. Better seize the chance of talking about this while you are willing, and before you ever wish I would entirely disappear with my dull speech. So, you want to know more about Númenor, don't you? It is a topic very much related to the stars, as you will soon see. The island of Númenor, or Elenna, 'the land of the Star,' as it was also called, was in the form of a five-pointed star that..." 

And so, another tale began. As the sky became darker, and the stars began to shine brighter, both grandfather and grandchild still sat amidst the bushes, one of them weaving tales of enchantment, the other asking and wondering at every marvel that he heard. Adrahil spoke lightly and cheerily, although in his heart weighed a shadow of fear. The thought was already there that perhaps this child would have to face perils unlooked-for and unimaginable that would defeat any thing he had ever learned or heard tales about. But, for now, he seemed to be content to listen and dream as a wise, loving grandfather spoke to him of the stars, and the sky, and taught him about hope. And, Adrahil realized he was just as content to hold him, if only for a while.


	2. The Eagle and the Swan

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The Eagle and the Swan

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By Altariel

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The Silver Swan

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An hour and more had passed since the sun had set, and it was dark when the Prince of Dol Amroth at last went into his grounds. The day had been still and hot, and now the air held the promise of rain. He crossed the lawn and headed towards a little wall. There were some steps there leading down into a sunken garden, and it was there that he found whom he sought. 

The boy was sitting on the ground, leaning back against the wall, his knees drawn up before him. Next to him was what seemed to be a small pile of pebbles. Every so often he would pick one up, throw it into the pond, and watch it land with a soft _plash_. Once the ripples had settled and the pond was calm once more, he would pick up another, and do the same again. 

Adrahil cleared his throat. The boy stopped what he was doing and looked up. 

'Good evening,' Adrahil said. 

'Good evening, sir,' Faramir said, warily.

'May I join you?'

'Of course...' The boy shifted along the wall so that there was space for them both. Adrahil came down to sit beside him, and they fell into silence. Faramir's hand strayed briefly back to the pile of what his grandfather could now see were seashells, and then he stopped himself. 'I suppose,' he said at last, 'we shall not be having our lesson tonight.'

'Well,' replied his grandfather, 'do you think that you have earned it?'

The boy did not answer, but picked up a shell and sent it into the water. Another joined it soon afterwards. 

His grandfather sat and watched. 'The fish in that pond,' he finally said, as a third shell arced its way towards its fate, 'Do not come from the sea. If you fill their home with shells, they will think that they are lost. I shall be prince of a pond of puzzled fish.'

The ghost of a smile passed across the boy's face. He contemplated the shell in his hand and, as he moved to set it back on the pile, his grandfather reached out and took it from him. 

'Why not tell me,' Adrahil said quietly, shifting the shell from palm to palm, 'What happened today?'

The boy sighed deeply and his shoulders slumped. When he spoke, his voice had the weary tone of one who has told his tale again and again, and does not expect it to be received any better on this occasion. 

'We went down to the shore to spend the afternoon collecting seashells. After a while, Boromir said we should have a competition, and see who could find the most before we had to come back for supper. He went off in the direction of the harbour, but I stayed near Mayneth because she had told us not to stray away from her sight. When she woke up again—' his point, Faramir would have pleased to know, was not lost on his grandfather, '—she called us back, but Boromir was nowhere to be found.'

Adrahil sat for a little while, considering his answer. When he did speak again, his voice was gentle, but firm. 'If your brother,' he said, 'made you promise not to say where he was going, then it is very loyal of you to keep your word, Faramir, and loyalty is an admirable trait. But he has been missing for a while now – has even missed his supper! – and even though he is a big lad, we are worried on his account. No-one will think less of you if you break a promise to him and tell me where he went.'

The boy reached for another shell and threw it into the water. 'Everyone always thinks I only do what he says!' he protested. 'But I cannot say where he went because he did not _tell _me!' His voice, which had been steadily rising, rang out now across the night. 

He dropped his head and stared down intently at the ground. The evening became still once more. When he spoke again, it was in a voice so soft his grandfather had to strain to hear him. 

'Mother would have believed me,' he said.

Adrahil looked up at the dark sky, at the clouds scudding in from the west, and then threw the shell he was holding into the pond. 

'Well,' he said, standing up with a sigh, 'Wherever your bold brother has decided to take himself, I have no doubt he will turn up soon enough. And since there are more than enough people out hunting for him, and little that an old man like me and a young man like you can do to help, I suppose we may as well continue with our lesson.'

He held out his hand. Faramir looked at it for a moment in surprise, and then stood up, reached out, and took it. 

'Tonight,' said the prince, as they made their way up the steps and back onto the lawn, rubbing at the boy's cold hand, 'I think you should learn to find Alquatelpë. Do you know what that means, Faramir?'

'_Alqua_ is _swan_,' Faramir answered, after a moment's thought, 'but I do not know the other word.'

'_Telpë_ means _silver_,' Adrahil told him. 'Alquatelpë is the Silver Swan that glides through the heavens. It is very easy to find in the summer.' 

They had reached a little bench on the path beside the lawn. Adrahil lifted the boy up so that he stood upon it, and then pointed upwards to the night sky, embroidered with silver stars. 'Do you see that triangle of stars, amongst the brightest in the heavens?' He traced their shape. 

The boy followed the movement. 'I see them.'

'Look to the one upon the left – and fear not! We shall learn about those others another night! For I am sure that you wish to hear about both the Ship and the Eagle!'

Faramir gave a small smile. 'I would like that.'

'We still have plenty of time. But for tonight – the Swan. That bright star is the swan's tail. Now,' Adrahil said, 'look back towards the uppermost star of the triangle – beneath it is another star, not so bright. Do you see?' The boy nodded. '_That_ is the swan's beak. Now, look between the beak and the tail. Can you pick out the long neck? And the wings?' 

Again, he drew the picture with his hand, and watched his grandson stare hard at the sky, eyes screwed up in concentration. And then a real smile unfolded across the boy's face. 'I can see it!' he said, pointing at the sky. 'The wings stretch out above and below!'

'Well done. Now you can see Alquatelpë, the Silver Swan. We in Dol Amroth hold it very dear – I imagine you would like to hear why?'

'Of course!' Faramir turned eagerly away from the sky and to his grandfather. 

'Very well,' he said with a smile. 'I shall tell you the tale. Once, long ago, there was an Elf-lord who ruled a mighty realm in the woods far, far north of Gondor. But a great evil came upon his kingdom, and so he journeyed down the river here to the Sea, to pass into the West. And he built a ship here in Belfalas, in the shape of a great swan, all white and silver, to take him there. But he did not leave when his ship was ready – instead he waited for a while.' 

'What was he waiting for?'

'Not what, who. He was waiting for someone that he loved – an Elven-maid called Nimrodel. But she had been lost in her journey to the Sea, lost in the White Mountains near your home, and she never came to Belfalas.'

'What did the king do? Did he keep on waiting? How long did he wait for her?'

'He waited a very long time – and then one night, a great storm came up, and his  
swan-ship broke its moorings, and drifted away from the shore. When the dawn came, and the king saw that he was being taken away from Nimrodel, he dived into the water, to come back to the shore, to search for her. On the boat, they saw him swimming away, as strong and as fair as a swan – but he was never seen again. That king's name was Amroth. And we remember him here, in Belfalas, where he built his great swan-ship.' 

'Did they ever find each other?'

'Nobody knows. Maybe they did. Maybe Amroth found Nimrodel in the mountains, and then brought her to the Sea at last, and they passed together into the West. Or maybe they are searching for each other still. I do not know.' The prince of Dol Amroth looked up at the stars. 'But up there in the sky they have found each other, have they not? The two wings of the Swan, beating together.' Very gently, he turned the boy around to face him. 'This is another reason why we look at the stars, Faramir,' he said, brushing at the boy's hair. 'Because they have tales to tell us, about those who have loved and have lost. And as we tell them, those tales are a comfort to us who have also loved and lost.'

'But it is so unfair,' said the boy. 'If they wanted to be together, why should they be kept apart? Why can she not be here—?' He stopped himself. 

His grandfather did not answer straightaway. 'Maybe—' he said, at last, 'maybe if your mother had stayed by the sea, she would indeed be here with me yet. Or maybe she would still have gone on ahead – _I _cannot say! But what I _can_ say is that had she never chosen to go to your great city, then _you_ would not be here tonight to stand with me and look at the stars.' Adrahil smoothed away some more of the tangles in the boy's hair. 'And I would not change that for all the world, Faramir!'

'Father told us...' Faramir's voice had gone very low. 'Father said... that death is the Gift of Men, but...' he dropped his head. 'I do not think he believes it.'

Adrahil, who did not doubt that for a moment, raised the boy's chin so that they were looking at each other again, and then placed his hand over the child's heart. 'What matters,' he said gently, 'Is what _you_ believe.'

The wind was picking up. Adrahil watched it lift his grandson's hair and thought, as he often did, of a little girl with dark hair to whom he had once told the tale  
of Amroth and Nimrodel, here in this garden, on a summer night long since gone. 

'Alquatelpë has one more tale to tell us, Faramir,' Adrahil said at length. 'Look back at the swan's tail, the star that I pointed out first. It has a name here in Dol Amroth – we call her Mithrellas. Do you know why?'

Faramir shook his head. His grandfather pulled a face and was pleased to see the boy smile back. 'What _do _they teach you in that great stone city of yours?' he said. 'I am sure that if I asked, you would know all the names of all the stewards – and so you should! But it is fitting, I think, for you to know something of _all _your forebears.'

They looked up again at the bright star shining above them.

'Mithrellas,' he explained, 'was an Elf-maid, a companion of Nimrodel. She herself became lost, in the woods of Belfalas, and was found by a Man, Imrazôr, a lord whose forefathers had come from Númenor. Imrazôr and Mithrellas were wedded, but after a little while, having borne a son and a daughter, Mithrellas vanished. Where to, none can say. Maybe she wanders the woods of Belfalas still. Or maybe she sought the havens, and looks back upon us here now. For the son of Mithrellas and Imrazôr was Galador, and he was the first Prince of Dol Amroth. And I am the twenty-first prince – and you are my grandson.' 

Adrahil set his hands upon the boy's shoulders. 'The stars shine above and tell their tales  
to all who can see them, Faramir. But for some – for _us_ – those tales are closer, because we are the ones who carry them on. And because we have that gift – that honour – we also have great responsibility.' 

The boy looked back at him with eyes as grey as flint. 'I know that,' he said. Then he leaned his head against his grandfather's chest. A spot of rain fell on his cheek, and then another, and another. Adrahil brushed them away, and lifted his grandson up into his arms. 

'Where do _you _think Boromir is?' Faramir asked, putting his arms around him. 'Will he come back safe?'

It was too much, Adrahil thought, to hope that somewhere the Steward's heir was receiving the fright of his life. The world seemed ever to smile upon the elder son. 

The rain was falling more heavily now. Adrahil wrapped the folds of his cloak around them both and made a dash for the house. 'Wherever he's got to,' he replied, as a clap of thunder rang out nearby, 'he's going to get a soaking.'

* * *

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The Eagle of the Stars

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'That may be so, but _I_ can't see it,' the older boy said, with finality. 

'But it's _easy...'_ His younger brother pointed up again. 'See the three bright stars there?'

'Of course I can see them_—'_

'But that means you're almost there!' Faramir cried out in frustration. 'The very bright one, on the far right, _that's_ the eagle's eye—' He grabbed his brother's hand and made him draw the picture with him. 'And then look _away_ from the other bright stars, and you can see its wings, and then its tail and there's even a tail feather... can't you _see_?'

'I can see the _stars_, but I've seen pictures of eagles and _that_ doesn't look anything like one!'

Faramir dropped his brother's hand and turned in exasperation to the man sitting on the bench behind them. 'Grandfather!' 

'What can I do?' said the Prince of Dol Amroth. 'If he can't see it, he can't see it.'

'He's not _trying—'_

'Why does it have to be an eagle anyway?' continued Boromir. 'It could be a sword. Look, there's the blade, and the bits that stick out are the guard, and then that could be the hilt, and that bright star there could be a jewel in the hilt...'

Faramir looked hard at him, his eyes narrowing slightly and a frown spreading across his brow, as the thought came to him that perhaps his brother was not in fact as obtuse as he appeared to be. 'You can see it, can't you?'

Boromir grinned at him. 'Of course I can. But I still think it's more like a sword.'

'It wouldn't be much use as a sword with that bit at the end,' Faramir shot back. 'If it is a sword, it's broken—'

'Perhaps,' their grandfather said, calmly but firmly, 'since generations of our forebears have preferred to see those stars as an eagle, we might for this evening proceed on that basis? Faramir?'

The boy nodded his full agreement. 

'Boromir, you are still in disgrace, and therefore I can discount your opinion on this matter entirely.'

The boy stretched out easily on his back and gave a good-natured laugh. 'Then an eagle it is, sir!' 

'Good.' His grandfather suppressed a smile.'Do either of you know the Elvish word for _eagle_?'

Boromir raised an eyebrow back at him. Adrahil took this to mean, _unlikely._ Faramir, however, had creased his brow once more, this time in concentration. 

'There was something I read in a history book...' he muttered. Boromir rolled his eyes. 'Someone with a name that meant _eagle_...' He looked up suddenly at his grandfather. 'One of the stewards!' he said in triumph. 'He was called Thorondir – it means eagle... eagle-something... So _thoron_ must be _eagle_.'

'Well done!' said his grandfather, just as Boromir said, 'Isn't it part of father's name too?' Then he shrugged. 'Did Thorondir do anything interesting, Faramir?'

'Well, he was steward...' his brother replied.

'Yes, but there are stewards and there are stewards. Was he just steward, or did he... did he make any alliances? Did he win any battles? Did he... I don't know, did he do anything at all?'

'No,' said Faramir, looking at his brother with deep pity, 'I think he was just steward.'

'Is that not something you should know for yourself, Boromir?' his grandfather said.

'What do I need to know it for?' Denethor's heir said cheerfully. 'I have Faramir.' He sat up and made a grab for the younger boy, who dodged him with practised ease, and then allowed his older brother to drape an arm around his shoulder. 

'You'd better go on, grandfather,' Boromir said, pulling his brother closer. 'He won't be happy until he's heard everything about the Eagle.'

'Thank you for your permission to continue.' Adrahil inclined his head gracefully. '_Thoron_, then, is the word for _eagle _in Sindarin, but we call the stars by their names in Quenya. And so that set of stars is named Soronúmë. Can you hear how the words are almost the same?'

'_Thoron... soron...'_ Faramir muttered the words to himself, trying them out. Boromir looked down at him and Adrahil saw a smile play across his face. And then, very gently, Boromir began to blow at the hair on the top of his brother's head. 

'Is there a story about the Eagle, sir?' Faramir said at last, brushing absently at his hair. 'Like there was about the Swan?'

'Not as such – but Eagles are very important. They are messengers, not just from the Valar,' he dropped his voice, 'but from the Elder King himself, from Manwë.' Adrahil looked down at the two boys sitting before him – so alike, so unalike – saw that he had even Boromir's full attention, and so continued. 

'Whenever Men and Elves have most needed aid, the Eagles have come to help them. Their king, Thorondor, scarred the face of Morgoth himself, and Eagles bore Beren and Lúthien from Angband, his stronghold in the North. Eagles guarded Gondolin, and they fought in the Great Battle when the world was broken for the first time, and Morgoth defeated. And on Númenor, when Men turned away from the Valar, and listened instead to the deceits of the Enemy, the Eagles came, to warn them of their peril, to try to bring them back. Eagles are not just birds or messengers. They are kings.'

'Kings...' repeated Faramir softly, looking back up at the bright star above, where it hung in the eastern sky, like a promise. 

'Are you happy now?' Boromir asked him gently, after a moment or two. 'Heard everything you want to? Because I found a spot on the walls where you can look right down into the harbour, and I want to see what the boats are like when they're lit up. Do you want to come?'

Faramir looked up at his grandfather and the chance of more tales, and then longingly towards the far end of the garden. He bit his lip.

'Go on,' said Adrahil, releasing him with a smile. 'Go with your brother. But I want you both back here in fifteen minutes – and, Boromir, I am holding you responsible if you are not.'

Boromir gave him a dazzling smile. 'Grandfather,' he said, 'you know I'm _always_ responsible.'

* * *

  
**A/N: **Thank you so much to Ithilwen for teaching me about the heavens! Also thank you to Isabeau for the loan of Mayneth, to Nath for Quenya suggestions, and to Alawa for stern beta-reading. 

The story of Mithrellas and Imrazôr is from UT, _The History of Galadriel and Celeborn_, and HoMe XII, _The Peoples of Middle-earth. _Alquatelpë is my own Quenya word – which I hope works, having decided not to use Nath's suggestions! – and is our own constellation Cygnus. The star Mithrellas is our own star Deneb. Soronúmë is Tolkien's, and is probably Aquila (which is what I have made it here). 

_Altariel, 13-15 May 2003_

  



	3. Menelvagor

**

Menelvagor

**

**_

By Acacea

_**

Dusk brought with it the quiet to Dol Amroth by the sea. Out in the harbours the ships had come home to rest, their sails pulled down and anchors set, as the golden rim of the sun disappeared behind the waves. The sight was a common one for the people who dwelt in that fief but Adrahil knew that to his younger grandson, Faramir, who sat now upon the remains of an old stone wall and looked out westwards, to watch the sun seemingly sink into the sea each night was a fascinating pastime that never lost its lure no matter how often he saw it. 

First it would slowly turn a deep red and the blue of the sky around it would be replaced by the pale shades of evening. And then it would gently caress the edge of the vast sea before slowly dipping into the water, spreading its colours so that the sea too turned from grey and blue to red and golden. Until finally all that would be left would be a thin line of gold between the sky and the sea. Soon, that would vanish too and the night would stretch its canopy over the land as the stars would begin to come out. 

They would seem to appear slowly. One or perhaps two at first glance but before one could realise it there would be more. So many more that to count all of them was not within the capability of anyone he knew.

"How many stars do you think shine above us?" He remembered Faramir often asking when he had been much younger. The child had expected his brother might know for in his eyes his brother knew everything. But Boromir had had no answer and so he had asked his father who would know more than Boromir because he was older. Denethor had no answer either, and nor had his mother. And finally, he had asked his grandfather.

"More than you or I can count," Adrahil had replied, and had smiled as his grandson realised that he would have to remain content with the knowledge that the heavens contained so much that he could learn but a fraction of the tales they could tell him.

He walked towards the wall where he knew the boy would be sitting patiently, waiting for the darkening expanse above to fill up with its glittering display, so that he might learn what he could of that fraction.

The only sounds around were those of the garden, the rustle of leaves and the incessant chatter of night insects and that of the sea. But the sounds of the sea were second nature to those who spent their lives by it, a sound that was not appreciated nor even really noticed unless one went far away from it. He knew why his grandson liked to sit by the sea so much. When he had been a babe in arms his mother would hold him as she walked the ramparts of the castle watching the sea that she missed so much in Minas Tirith. And when night fell she would listen; to the waves breaking on the coast and the gentle waters of the calm harbour lapping against the ships anchored in it.

Adrahil reached the little block of stones to find his grandson not looking up to the skies as was his wont but rather down at the ground, where he seemed to be sketching out a pattern on the mud with a small, thin stick. The boy seemed more serious than usual, and especially in contrast to Boromir who was in high spirits after coming out quite well in his sword practice earlier in the day. 

"Did you enjoy your sword fighting lesson with your uncle today," he asked as the raven head turned at his approach.

"I do not spar as well as Boromir does," the child said quietly. And then after a pause, "But it is important, is it not, that I should learn to fight as well as he does? So that I too can defend our land like Boromir is going to."

Adrahil frowned. It seemed to him that his younger grandson's voice held a note of unhappiness before he lapsed into silence. Faramir bent down again and went back to the drawing on the mud. Looking over his shoulder, Adrahil could just about make out the outline of a figure holding a sword in hand. It was a proper sketch of a person holding a sword not just a stick figure, as most boys of Faramir's age would have been wont to draw. Then the twig ran all over the mud and hastily erased away the rough sketch, as though embarrassed by the audience.

"Uncle said Boromir will make a very good soldier for Gondor," he said in a small voice as Adrahil sat down on the stones beside him, stretching out his long legs over the grassy embankment.

"Yes, he will. But is that not a matter of pride to you?"

"But that means he will have to leave home."

"He will have to leave home if he wants to become a good soldier," Adrahil agreed, "Or he will not learn how to really fight and defend what is right."

The twig was ground into the mud morosely as the boy continued to stare at the ground.

"But you will always get to meet him when he comes home," the prince suggested.

Faramir pulled up his knees to his chest and hugged his legs, before turning to look at Adrahil, "But I want him to be home always," he muttered, the half-hearted tone telling his grandfather that he knew what he asked for was hardly possible.

"It may be," he said slowly, "That some day that could happen."

The boy glanced up warily, "Father says Gondor needs all the soldiers she has if we wish to withstand our enemies."

"And he is right."

The clumping of footsteps made them look up and over their shoulders. Boromir came up to where they sat, his face wreathed in smiles and his hands full of fruit.

"Those are not from the kitchens," Adrahil said mildly.

"No, they are from the trees over there," Boromir said very vaguely, and then promptly changed the subject, "What are you teaching Faramir today, Grandfather?"

Adrahil decided that 'the trees over there' probably referred to one of the orchards the boys had been forbidden from raiding for the fruit were yet to ripen. He maintained his silence however and turned to the question.

"I thought," he said, "That we could do Menelvagor today."

"Menelvagor," Faramir repeated, "Menel is the heavens, the sky ... the Swordsman of the Sky!"

"The Swordsman of the Sky?" Boromir repeated, "I know that one!"

"You do know something of the stars, I see," Adrahil said in an amused voice.

"Mother showed it to me when I got my first real sword," Boromir said excitedly, whether at the memory of the sword or at knowing about the stars, Adrahil could not decide. He did notice though that the mention of his daughter had made his younger grandson sit up interestedly.

Boromir was still speaking, "She said she liked seeing the Swordsman from her window in Minas Tirth because she could see him from her windows here. And she said that it made the cold nights easier when she knew he was shining above."

He knew that feeling. It was one he had often had when sailing the lonely waters in the cold nights. Finduilas was very much his daughter; he had always known that.

"She could?" came Faramir's small voice, interrupting his reverie.

"Yes, she could," Boromir declared, "The stars we see here are the same stars that shine over Minas Tirith, after all. The same stars that you see from your window each night."

"Can we see it now?"

Adrahil watched in amusement as Boromir looked around rapidly, "See! Over there, that star there is the head and those stars are his left arm, and there is his right arm, and –"

Faramir's head swung in every direction as his eyes tried to follow Boromir's hand waving around the sky expansively.

"Which bright star?" he asked finally.

Adrahil sighed and gently pivoted Faramir's shoulders so that he faced west. The sun had finally sunk completely away and the sky had turned a deep blue and little dots had begun to sparkle all over it. He could see what his daughter had meant.

"Do you see a bright red star there?" When Faramir nodded he proceeded, "That is Menelvagor's shoulder. Now, watch carefully. Do you see another one by its side and a third in the middle above them?"

The intent raven head nodded solemnly, "Those are his right shoulder and his head. And can you see below them lie three shining stars?"

"Yes."

"That is his belt. And the two spread below his belt are his feet. Now watch around his shoulders. Can you see his hands spread out?"

Faramir nodded excitedly.

"Where is the sword?" Boromir asked suddenly.

Adrahil continued patiently, "There it lies below his belt. Can you see those tiny stars? What do you think they are?"

"A sword," Faramir stated definitively.

His grandfather nodded, "It is said that in Menelvagor can be seen a great warrior who lived many years ago." 

"What did he do? Did he win many battles?" asked Boromir promptly.

"He did slay a dragon," Adrahil replied.

The rise of Boromir's eyebrows could be seen even in the dimming light. Faramir continued watching his grandfather patiently.

"He got rid of an evil that tainted a part of the world. But it was not enough, for the darkness still remained as it still remains even today over our land. And that is why Menelvagor shines so bright upon us with his sword in hand. To remind us that he will guard us against it. And to give us hope that some day all that we fear shall be vanquished."

"It is not a very bright sword," Boromir said as he watched the western horizon, "But if it achieves its aim, that is all that is of importance, I daresay."

The older man nodded gently, "And that is where the importance of the sword lies. Not in its brightness or its sharpness or in the sword itself. It lies in what one chooses to do with it."

They nodded back solemnly at him before turning back towards the Swordsman.

"How the belt shines," Faramir whispered softly.

"I should like a belt such as that some day," Boromir mused, "To hold my sword when I ride out to battle... Oh look, grandfather! It is beginning to disappear behind the water."

"Yes, do you see the red star I showed you first?"

The two boys nodded.

"That is Borgil."

"Gil is star, I know. Bor is... ever?" Faramir asked hesitantly, watching the upper half the constellation that remained.

"Yes, it is. It is always Borgil that you will see the first so as to tell you that Menelvagor will ever be there, even if you cannot see him. You merely need the faith that he is there for you whether you can see him or not," Adrahil said looking into his younger grandson's face.

The quiet face broke out into a small smile, "He will always be there," came the soft response as they looked towards Boromir who was biting into one of the fruits.

The handsome face promptly contorted into a most unbecoming grimace and gave vent to a sound of disgust at the sour taste of unripe fruit, and then pulled an indignant face at the laughs that greeted him.

* * *

**A/N:** A graduation gift to Starlight 

Menelvagor is the same as our Orion with some leeway taken regarding its visibility in the summer. Orion as I understand is generally seen quite clearly in winter, over a fairly large latitudinal span. In summer however, it might just about be visible towards the west before it sets.  
Borgil coincides with Betelgeuse, the star that forms Orion's left shoulder.

Menelvagor is also said to represent Turin Turambar and to forebode the Last Battle that shall be at the end of days.

~acacea


	4. The Archer

**

The Archer

**

**_

By Fileg

_**

There were three parts to his dream, though they did not always come together.

There were stars burning, burning and falling, lighting up a place that seemed to be deep inside his heart, a burst of brilliance, heat and light, until he rose like a phoenix trailing the scent of cinnamon and gold.

There was a wave that moved more against the sky than the sea, reaching for the stars, reaching to quench the lights that lay scattered like campfires dotting the plain after battle. It was a living wall of tears; salt and water mingled in an onward rush – to lift him or engulf him, he had yet to find out for certain.

And there was the dome of the heavens; blue, dark blue with a border of stories that spun in an ever changing tale around the hub that was himself; standing, reaching for lights that twinkled above him, up the darkening dome of the sky, up to the black of the night outside the skylights, dark and light and diamonds scattered across the glass, and the raindrop tears that glistened after the wave had passed.

When he was young, the dreams would sometimes frighten him, and he would wake, heart pounding in his small chest, wanting to cry out for comfort - but how could you tell anyone you woke afraid of the wind or the wave or the stars?

And over the years he had learned to wake calm, close his eyes and recreate the dream, slowly learning its secret places, slowly learning to read its heart.

He had almost lost the stars in the dark, but since he woke he had never been without them, knowing at last that there was a north star with him - that the burning was the fire of his passion for life, that the wave was meant to lift him to the stars, and that the dome had been built to protect him while he grew into his own heart.

Tonight the dream had come again, and left him sitting wakeful on the wall in the starlight, like an elf, seeing in the patterns of the stars a pattern forming on the surface of his life. Tonight the pattern had a deep voice, and deep, deep eyes, now green, now grey that had taught him as a child to love the sea, and a sense of honor that could not have come from anyplace but love.

He startled almost imperceptibly at the touch on his shoulder, and looked up to greet his lieutenant as the watch changed. "Did you dream about the stars, Captain?" the soft voice asked. "No," he answered, smiling, "about my Grandfather."

***

The clouds scudded across the pale, just washed sky like a hand learning to use a pen – bold one moment, secure with a letter it knew well; and then a little hesitant over a new shape it was only practicing. There was the brackish smell of seaweed tossed up by the uncertain weather, and he heaved the big book he was carrying onto a bench inside the courtyard and clambered up to peer down at the place where the great river Anduin emptied into the sea, the exact place where the sun was sinking into the choppy water.

Everything was grey – the twilight sea, the dimming sky, the air becoming visible around him as its own grey nature was revealed, his own eyes slowly becoming a match for his entire world. He stood watching the lights in the harbour come slowly to life, each one a star lit with a gift from a hearth or torch, each mirroring a spark growing slowly to life in the gently darkening sky above him. He stood until a star moved gently toward him out of the gloom, swaying in his grandsire's hand. He hopped down and ran to carry the lantern to the wall, setting it carefully above the spot where the big book had been placed.

"Were you waiting for me?" the deep voice asked. His laughter bubbled to the surface.

"Yes, you know I was!" the child exclaimed.

"Not tired of our lessons yet?"

Tired! How could he tire of learning the stories of the sky; how could he tire of looking up and seeing the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit; how could he tire of the surety of his grandsire promising he would be there? How?

"No," he grinned, "not yet. I still have so much to learn!"

They settled on the bench together, one on each side of the great book, and poured over the possible lessons in the spill of glow from the lamp until the sky was dark enough to read. Then Adrahil tapped a page knowingly and smiled, and they shuttered the lantern and closed the book, moving it aside so the child could sit next to his grandsire and lean back against his strong thigh as they looked up in wonder at the glitter of another world.

"I know you can find the Swordsman by yourself – but do you know he has a brother? Would you like to see Gondor's other defender?"

The little head was shaking, no; and then nodding, yes…

"The swordsman is easy for most people to see – both his stars, and his warrior way – for the swordsman fights proudly in the open. But over here, in the shadow of the trees, his brother waits in cover, watching everything. That is the way of the world, Faramir – some dangers are seen, and some unseen… and some weapons as well, but they must still be used with honor if a man wishes to remain a man. The Archer is not just a fighter – sometimes he is a soldier, sometimes he is a father, defending his family and sometimes he is a hunter, hoping to bring home meat. In all he does, he has come to depend on his honor, his skill and his bow."

"Do you see the bright star, just there?" Adrahil held the boys hand, finger extended so that he sighted down the length of it.

"I do, sir! It is like a bright blue eye!"

"Very good! That is the eye of the archer." He moved the child's hand slightly to the east. "And here – look for a bright place again." He waited until the little one's excited "Yes!" let him know it had been found.

"Now, look at how you are sighting down your arm to focus on the stars, and imagine him doing the same… imagine your arm is your arrow, and sight down your arm again… watch now…."

He noted with amusement that the child was not only peering along his arm, he had unconsciously drawn the other hand back, fingers curved in excitement as though he were bending the great bow. "Look for the bow, Faramir… see the curve, bending up and down from the point of the arrow… just here…" he moved the pointing finger east again, "and then, just here…"

"Oh! Grandfather! Here he comes, out of the dark!" Adrahil could not help but smile at the way his grandson spoke. He remembered himself as a boy, asking his own father if the dragon could stay in the sky all year if it wound its tail tightly around the high tower of Dol Amroth's palace.

The little one had continued on in an excited way, pointing to various stars that were making pictures for him. His grandfather's reverie lifted in time to hear him say "… and Boromir and I will be the brothers who fight for Gondor, won't we? But we will both have swords, and we will both have bows, and…"

A cold chill touched the old man's heart as he listened to the martial dreams of the boy. "..and you will both have honor, I hope!" And then, a little softer, remembering his own childhood games and carved soldiers and wooden horses, "And honors! Honors aplenty, I expect, in time."

The little one smiled in the dark. He had not expected a grown-up to take his games seriously. His grandsire was more willing to listen than most of the adults he knew, and he pressed on, taking full advantage of being heard.

"Of course we will fight with honor, sir! But boldly! And our swords will shine in the sun… and our arrows will be swifter than the wind…" He stopped swooping his arm about in the dark and sat up and looked into Adrahil's eyes, a little puzzled by the expression he saw there. "We will be soldiers of Gondor… will you be proud of us, Grandfather?"

The prince of Dol Amroth thought his heart had stopped beating, but he smiled at the grey eyed child, and brushed the raven hair back from his brow. Very seriously, he answered, "I will be proud of you both, Faramir. I am proud of you now."

The smile on the child's face finally reached his eyes, and Adrahil found himself the target of Faramir-as-an-arrow as the little body launched itself into his arms and hugged him.

"But, Faramir," he said softly into the dark, "I hope you will always remember that the sword and the bow are tools men use. They can use them wisely, or they can use them ill."

He stroked the dark hair, and Faramir settled next to him again, looking up into the well-loved face. "The sword and the arrow can be beautiful if the man who wields them understands what he fights for. Never use such tools thoughtlessly, for someone always pays a price. Let the beauty of your weapons come from the strength of the heart that wields them." He looked into the shining young eyes that were fastened on his with such attention, and sighed. "Do you understand, Faramir?"

The little one nodded, and settled back into his newly accustomed place, cuddled at his grandsire's side. "I will, grandfather," came the soft answer.

* * *

**A/N:** This is meant as a birthday gift to Starlight, who can resist neither Faramir nor the stars, and who encourages me to play in the Anduin and the Electronic Anduin…

My husband Jim assembled this picture to help me visualize the constellation while I was writing. It uses an overlap of Sagittarius and Scorpio in the starfield.


	5. Obrothmabar

**

Obrothmabâr

**

**_

By Chris

_**

The last two days and nights the rain poured down; last evening thunder and lightning stormed in as well. But they had been the final lash of fury and with their parting the sky had cleared at last. Now all that remained of the violent catharsis were silent pools scattered around the courtyard, reflecting the arc of stars sparkling opulently overhead.

This visit with Faramir had been a revelation. The Prince of Dol Amroth felt his chest swell with pride at his intelligence and wit. He recognized a quiet wisdom in the child that provided him comfort for the future, and his open affection and loyalty had lightened the old man's heart. He had never before realized that being a grandsire could be the source of such an abiding joy. He was only sorry that he and Boromir had not spent similar time together earlier and because he could abide regrets, time would have to be made to rectify the oversight. But that was for tomorrow…

Adrahil strode down the corridor, his pace quick and certain. Once an idea came, bidden or no, he was not inclined to second guess himself. He reached the door and opened it; quietly entering the room, he noticed that the curtains had not been closed against the storm that had roared and flashed when Faramir retired. A smile ghosted across his face. Noticing a figure curled on the couch, Adrahil paused on the way toward the bed; only a shock of silky black peeking out from under the blanket let him know it was Boromir.

His eyebrow rose as he contemplated the possible reasons for his grandson sleeping cramped on a small sofa here, rather than comfortably in his own room. The man was still wondering as he turned back toward Faramir. Solemn grey eyes met his. When his grandsire began to ask, the boy shook his head and placed a finger to his mouth as he sat up and reached for his robe. He rose from the bed, slipping on the sandals he loved wearing while in the South. Faramir took Adrahil's hand and led him back out of the room.

Once the door was closed, the boy looked up at his grandfather. There was genuine fear in the boy, it radiated out of his eyes, his stance… yet he did not falter as he raised his glance to the man's. "Please do not be angry. Boromir does not like for me to me sleep alone when there is thunder... Not since our mother died; it stormed then too. He only wishes to protect me." Adrahil understood that loss much too clearly and was surprised to find a new shard of its pain in realization of the anger his daughter's son expected. He was uncertain who sheltered whom when it thundered, but he was determined to spare the brothers from the consequences of their relationship. He was already charting his conversation with their father as he knelt down to soothe the boy. "Son, brothers are meant to protect each other, it matters not from what if the fear is real. It brings honor to you both and it pleases me that the acceptance of that responsibility is obviously mutual." The Prince brought his hand up to grip his grandson's shoulder, squeezing it affectionately as he smiled into still too solemn eyes. Suddenly, Faramir was once again a young boy; a gap-toothed smile lit his face and he launched himself onto the man, wrapping his arms around his grandsire's neck. Adrahil was grateful for his training as a youth on lurching boats; he was able to regain his balance before they toppled to the floor even as his arms hugged the small body in return.

The child pulled back and made toward his door. His grandsire's words stopped him. "You realize that if we are to prepare you for your star chart lessons, there are still many constellations to learn. The sky is clear now and it has been a few days since we have been able to manage a practical lesson." Young Faramir's eyes sparkled like they were lit by the very stars they had spent so much time watching as his head swung back to meet Adrahil's laughing ones. "Would you mind delaying your return to bed for another lesson?" The boy's dark hair swung about his face with the fervent shaking of his head. "Good then, this morning's sky has a fair lot to offer us."

Once again Adrahil was striding down the corridor; in his callused hand rested a very excited boy's. Faramir was having trouble disciplining his legs, every so often he would find them skipping and he would have to force them back into a more sedate walk.

The warm air had dried the benches in the courtyard and while any would have been fine with Faramir, it became apparent as they roamed that his grandfather was searching for something particular. It took almost no time to find and Faramir realized for the first time that his grandfather truly loved the stars and the pictures they made. The smile that came to the man's lips was echoed in the crinkles around his eyes, it was the same smile that came when he looked at a member of the family. This was different from appreciation or simple enjoyment, his grandfather was greeting a friend.

The man looked down to his grandson and saw the recognition there. He was again amazed at the astute nature of this child. "They are comrades, these stars. They are my link to both the past and the future. They have saved my life more than once and provided solace more times than I can count. They are steady and true and I have come to depend on them. They are among my earliest memories and have been constant companions through all of my adventures and times of contemplation. It may seem foolish to believe them to be such, but I think that you might come to understand... I see that you already accept it and I am grateful son. Some would mock me for being a dreamer; it pleases me that I can share this with you."

Faramir stored the words away. He was uncertain about the meaning of all his grandsire had said. But these lessons were now more than an exercise, more than sharing time with this man he loved, they had become introductions.

Faramir slipped his hand back into his grandfather's as he too scanned the velvet tapestry above. They stood together sharing a moment of companionable silence. As he rested his head against the man's hip, he asked, "Who shall we meet this morning?"

Adrahil chuckled as he moved them to a nearby bench. Sitting, he pointed to the bright triangle low in the northwestern sky. "Ah, not who but what. Did you know that not all stars are the same age? Some are very new, while others are as nearly as old as the forming of Arda itself. Faramir nodded, still looking at the triangle that included one of the stars from Alquatelpë and one from Soronúmë. The deep voice was slightly huskier as the man continued. "And some stars die." The boy's gaze snapped back to earth, seeking his grandfather's. "'Tis true, son. But let us start with nine new stars. The last bright star in the triangle… see it now resting between the other two, lower, just above the horizon?"

Without waiting for his grandson's affirmation, he continued. "There is a star just to its right; those two make the bow. The two stars straight up from each of the first two, are the stern. There are two more stars, almost half way up the hull that go out in a line to the right; those are the mast. Just below the star that tops the mast, is the one that begins to form the mainyard, now follow it up and back toward the hull, running diagonally across the mast, to the star that sits at the other end of the mainyard. The last star in the group is one of the oarlocks, it is set a third of the way up from the bow, in the center of the hull."

The boy's eyes were lit with excitement, "Oh, I see it! Its sail is full and it is racing right towards land. Whose ship is it Grandfather? What is its name?"

"Most frequently, it is simply called Cirya; its true name, Obrothmabâr, is nearly forgotten. The ship represents the sailing of the last of the Faithful from Númenor… The bright star at the waterline of the bow is Elendil's. Faramir, do you know what happened to Númenor? Why it happened?"

Adrahil felt the shiver race through his grandson, noticed the unconscious movement of the boy drawing closer to his side. The boy took a deep breath before he answered, "It was destroyed by a wave. The Valar asked for it to be, when the King disobeyed them and sailed to Aman. The King and all those in his armada were killed too."

"I cannot find it in my heart that Manwë anticipated the extent of the ferocity of Illuvatar's aid, else he may never have asked for The One's intervention. But intervention was requested, and provided. The sundering of the West from Arda was cataclysmic. If not for the skill of the mariners in those ships sailing east and the blessing of the Valar upon them, they too would have perished." Adrahil lightened his tone, in an effort to ease them both back to the present. "Each of the stars that form the ship are for one of the nine that sailed, the storm and waves caused by the Change of the World separated the fleet and for a time no one was certain who had survived. Have you learned that history yet?"

Faramir shook his head, "Not all of it. I know that Elendil was separated from his sons and that Isildur founded Minas Ithil in Ithilien, and his brother built my city, Minas Tirith, but it had a different name then."

"Well done! Now, look behind Obrothmabâr, just to the left, there a star, it is very faint. Do you see it?" 

Faramir nods, "Just. It is more like the ghost of a star, I can almost see through it." 

Adrahil glanced down at the boy, draping an arm around his shoulders. "Not a ghost yet, son... But it is only visible for a few weeks each summer in the morning sky. That star is Anadûnê. It was once among the brightest in the heavens. Anadûnê has been grieving since the downfall of its namesake; since the downfall it has been losing its light. No… not a ghost yet… but soon. For it is dying, each summer I hold my breath until I see it again. I pray that I shall have taken my last breath before its light is completely quenched, for in its light I am reminded that I am of the Faithful. I hope that when the Deceiver's power is no longer answered and he is at last defeated, Anadûnê will burn brighter in its joy… and redemption.

The boy could not stop the ripple of fear that ran through him. "Who is the Deceiver?"

"Sauron." The Prince could not hide the fear in his eyes as they met his grandson's; his fear that this boy would one day stand on the line, as so many before him had. He wished there was some strength he could bestow on the bright light sitting at his side.

"Mordor…" The child's whispered reply sent icy fingers around the old man's heart.

"Son, I am not certain I am capable of conveying all that I want to say, but please listen. There may come a day when my meaning, if not my words will make sense to you… Those that keep faith understand that a man's power resides within. It is in his ability to know himself and finding joy in that knowledge; to accept who and what he is, finding strength even in his weaknesses. It is in his ability to seek the truth yet accept that truth is not necessarily the same for others as it is for himself. It is manifest in his choice to do what is right, not out of simple obedience, but to follow his heart, even when it is not the most expedient or safest path. And it is in the peace that will be his at the end of his days, in the certainty that he will be reunited with those who went before. Power is within, it is honed with honor and duty and love."

Grey eyes met green. "I will remember."

A smile appeared on the man's face, it was reflected on the boy's. "It is too fine a night to go in. Would you mind sitting for a while?"

A wave of love washed over Faramir. "I would be honored. I enjoy your company, Grandfather." A small arm reached around the man's waist as the small body rested against his grandsire's side.

Adrahil's smile broadened and his eyes swam for but a moment, as he placed his arm around his grandson's shoulder. "And I yours, son."

They continued to gaze at the stars above them. As the hull disappeared below the horizon, Faramir's head descended into his grandfather's lap.

Adrahil continued to sit until Anadûnê was no longer visible in the lightening sky. He then gathered the sleeping child in his arms and carried him back to his room. He lay him on the bed and pulled the linens over him. The man stood for a moment watching the boy curl into himself, then bent and brushed a kiss across his grandson's forehead as he stroked raven hair away from the boy's face.

As he rose, solemn grey eyes met his. Adrahil walked over to the couch and again bent down to lightly stroke raven hair away from his grandson's face and bushed a kiss across Boromir's forehead.

* * *

**A/N:** Scientifically, stars are really quite pretty. Lyra looks pretty much like this if one were admiring it at 4:00AM in Athens at an altitude of 20 meters in the middle of July (this year). While, now the fifth brightest, 13,000 years ago Vega was the brightest star seen in the northern sky. It shall be again in another 14-15,000 years. Therefore, my imaginary Anadûnê could appear less bright as the third age passes.

The stars that make the summer triangle are Vega, in Lyra; Denab in Cygnus; and Altair in Aquila.

Cirya is Quenya for ship.

Anadûnê is Adûnaic for Númenor.

Obrothmabâr is an artificial Adûnaic word made from Obroth, meaning the cutting of the water by the bow of a ship (the making of a bow wave); ma, which is with; and abâr, meaning fidelity, strength or endurance.

Alquatelpë is an artificial Quenya word for Silver Swan and is the name of a Constellation created by Altariel in her story, "The Swan and the Eagle" intended to coincide with Cygna.

Soronúmë is the Quenya name for the Eagle Constellation discussed by Tolkien and is thought to coincide with Aquila.

I use Ardalambion as my primary source for information on Tolkien languages, all mistakes and misunderstandings are mine.

Here is a link to a larger version of the beautiful rendering done by Shunt (Jim):   
Because I am the second wife and made pork chops… a very useful bribe.


	6. The Netted Stars

**

The Netted Stars

**

**_

By Forodwaith

_**

Faramir's aunt had been brought to bed that afternoon, and the House of the Prince of Dol Amroth trembled with suppressed tension. Of course, Faramir hadn't known why his aunt and uncle weren't present at dinner, nor why everyone else seemed so distracted. Boromir had been the one to inform him, loftily adding that he remembered when Faramir was born and things had been just the same. "I wouldn't expect a star lesson tonight," he warned his younger brother. "Grandfather will probably be too busy."

Still, Faramir wanted to practice finding the stars and constellations he did know; and so, after two servings of honeyed fruit (for none of the adults had much appetite) he went out into the colonnaded garden and chose a bench from which to watch the sky. 

The sun had just sunk beneath the water, blazing as if a ship were aflame out at sea; but Faramir's eyes were fixed on the East, where firefly points of light were appearing moment by moment, as he lost himself in the wheeling dance of the skies.

It was nearly full dark when steps clattered down the staircase from the upper rooms, then paced on the terrace behind him. Another set of footsteps hurried out from the dining hall. "No news?" Adrahil called, making Faramir start; his grandfather's voice came from close behind him.

"None yet. And Meril has barred me from the rooms; she says that I am distracting the midwives and Nimrien. She told me to go away until after the tide turns." Unsure whether his uncle and grandfather knew he was present, Faramir kept still, hoping that he would not seem to be eavesdropping on private matters if found.

"Meril is a wise woman," Adrahil remarked mildly.

"Second babes are meant to be easier, they say," Imrahil muttered to himself.

Adrahil must have heard, however, for he replied, "Have patience, my son; the turn of the tide is coming." Descending the shallow stairs into the garden, he looked about and smiled at the sight of Faramir. "My faithful pupil, I am sorry that I have neglected you tonight. What have you seen so far?"

"There is something I have been wondering about…" Faramir pointed to a smear of light in the north-eastern sky, just above the dark mass of the Ephel Duath. "What is that? It is too large to be a star, and it does not move quickly enough to be a comet – I think," he added hastily. 

Sitting down next to the boy, Adrahil sighed at his grandson's habit of qualifying almost any statement. "You are right, Faramir, that is not a comet. It is a group of stars so close together that our eyes can scarcely tell them apart. They are called Remmirath in the Grey Elven tongue."

"The... jewels?" Faramir hazarded.

"The Netted Jewels, or the Netted Stars, yes."

"Is there a story about them?"

"The Remmirath are unusual, for there are many different tales about them. Some say that the Lady the Elves revere, the Star-Kindler, gathered them in her skirts and brought them from the far West when the Elves awoke for the first time, so that they might have beauty in the skies to look upon.

"Do you remember your lesson of Earendil?" Faramir nodded.

"Well, some say that he took up fishing for stars on his voyage through the skies, and that the Remmirath are a netfull which broke away from his vessel Vingilot one night."

"That one's silly," Faramir said scornfully, and Adrahil laughed. "I agree. No proper sailor would lose a net so easily."

"What is the true story, grandfather?" 

"No-one knows which story may be true, Faramir, but I will tell you the one I like best, though it is a sad one. My favourite tale of the Remmirath has to do with how many of them there are, and how many there were a long time ago. Can you count them for me?"

Faramir squinted into the sky, his face pinched in concentration. He had to count several times over to be sure; Adrahil could see his lips moving in a silent reckoning, but finally he said, "Six?"

"You are right again, Faramir. At least, that is how many we see now. Long ago, they say, there were seven of them, and that is the tale I am going to tell you – and your uncle, if he will stop pacing."

Faramir settled more comfortably on the bench, nestling into Adrahil as his grandfather continued to speak. Imrahil could not bring himself to sit, but leaned against the balustrade.

"Thousands of years ago, after Numenor sank and Elendil's ships sailed to these shores, there was a great war, for Sauron the Deceiver had come as well and made himself a stronghold in the Dark Land." Adrahil felt his grandson's slight body shiver in the crook of his arm.

"You know that Elendil and his sons made alliance with the High Elves who still lived in the north at that time, and for many years they laid siege to Mordor. In the last battle before the Dark Tower, what happened?"

"They won, but Anárion and Elendil were killed," Faramir whispered.

"Yes, they were, and so were many others. The High King of the Elves was one of them. He was called Gil-galad, Starlight, because his spirit shone so brightly…"

"But I thought Elves lived forever!" Faramir blurted, shocked into interrupting.

"They may; but they can be killed in battle just as Men can. In any event, Gil-galad perished at the hand of Sauron. 

"Both far away in Arnor, and here in Gondor, they marked the absence of a star in the heavens that night; and the Elves said that it had fallen into darkness when Gil-galad was slain. Many laments were written for him, one of which I heard years ago.

"_But long ago he rode away,  
and where he dwelleth none can say;  
for into darkness fell his star  
in Mordor where the shadows are_," Adrahil sang softly.

"Though Sauron was defeated, that war destroyed much that was fair in Middle-Earth; including the High Kingship of the Elves, for Gil-galad had no heirs. But I do – and this night another has been born, for which I give thanks."

Imrahil sprang up from his uncomfortable slouch. "How do you know?"

"Because Meril has been hovering in the doorway for some time." Adrahil nodded toward an open door in the south wing, the lamplight which spilled through it outlining the nurse's sturdy form.

Imrahil dashed down the terrace and passed her without a word, stone echoing as he pelted up the stairs to his wife's rooms.

"Come, Faramir, and let us question Meril about your new cousin." Slipping his hand into his grandfather's, Faramir followed him toward the warm light.

* * *

**A/N:** The Remmirath are generally identified as the star cluster we know as the Pleiades or the Seven Sisters. Today only six stars in the Pleiades are clearly visible to the naked eye, and there are many tales and myths about what happened to the seventh. Several faint stars associated with the other six are visible with a telescope; one of these stars may have been much brighter in ancient times, accounting for the many early references to seven stars.

Following on from Starlight's story _Eärendil_, which gives Faramir's age at this time as seven, I realized that this story could be set in the summer of 2990 T.A. – also the year that Imrahil's second son Erchirion was born (according to the HASA Resources section). So I couldn't resist putting that in. The name of Nimrien for Imrahil's wife is borrowed from Isabeau's Dol Amroth stories.

The snippet of song about Gil-galad is, of course, lifted directly from Tolkien (LoTR Bk 1 Ch 11).


	7. The Sickle of the Valar

**

The Sickle of the Valar

**

**_

By Altariel

_**

He woke, suddenly, from a dream disturbed by whispers. He reached out, but his hand found only the book that had slid from him as he had fallen asleep; found only the space where she had once lain. She herself was gone, twenty months past. 

He forsook the bed in turn, and wondered at the time. He crossed to the window, where heavy curtains blocked out whatever light there might yet be, and drew them back – but it was still night. He watched and listened to the darkness, and reflected. 

Grief, he observed, had form; absence had presence. At its end, her life had been light, feather-like, a wisp waiting trembling for the cut. Sheared, he had made for her a monument – white slabs of marble levelled in unequal remembrance of her brittle beauty. In death, she had taken on the presence, and the permanence, of stone. 

In the sky above, as he watched, slivers of starlight merged and took on meaning. A cloud passed over Alquatelpë, leaving only a solitary wing visible; in the West, Soronúmë hovered – bright and remote, sure in his purpose and biding his time. 

He turned his mind swiftly to consideration of the practical – of the voyage he had lately made, from Pelargir, and the trials of sea travel... of the journey beginning the next morning, and the parlous state of the roads through Lebennin... of the White City and how it might be faring without him to oversee all its affairs— Then he heard whispers again, in the night. 

They were coming from below his window. Shadows were moving there too; and then they resolved themselves into his father-in-law – and his younger boy! _What could bring them out so early?_ he thought, exasperated. Tomorrow, no doubt, the boy would be tired and out of sorts – and it was not his grandsire that would be troubled with him, but his sire. 

"There," said the old man, "there – can you see?"

"I think so..." answered the boy. "Yes, I have it! A handle, and there's the blade."

"The Sickle," his grandsire agreed.

Adrahil was teaching him the stars, Denethor realized – and recalled a promise made about a map, if the boy showed willing... So, Faramir had enlisted his grandsire to aid him, it seemed...

"Or the Valacirca, since I know you prefer the names in Elvish," the man said, a smile in his voice. "It was set in the northern sky in the Elder Days, as a promise that the darkness of that time would pass. I saved it for last, as our farewell. For even the deathless," he murmured, "know everything comes to an end. All joys – and all sorrows."

Denethor looked up at the northern sky, to the seven stars raised there.  

"Thirty years ago," the old man said, "I stood on this very spot and showed it to a little girl not much older than you."

"My mother?"

"Your mother."

He waited. 

"Did... she like the stars?" the boy said. 

"Yes, she did— Do you remember her, Faramir?"

"Sometimes..." His voice wavered uncertainly, like grass in the wind.

"And your father," Adrahil asked, "does he say much about her?"

The night gained substance, and weight. 

"No," the boy replied. "But sometimes he gets sad."

_Watching,_ Denethor thought, _and whispering. _

He listened, closely.

"Come along," the elder said, at length, and sighing. "One last look at the Sickle, and then back to bed. A long day for you tomorrow."

The fond grumbling of an old man lifting a loved boy up into his arms, some last words about the hope that hung in the heavens, and then they were gone... And if the Steward of Gondor, watching the stars and hearing all, thought too of their promise, or if he thought only of his wife, scythed too soon – this tale cannot tell. 

* * *

_Altariel, 3rd-5th November 2003_


End file.
